


you know him. you love him.

by tboi



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Post PR1, Their Eyes!! Their Matching Eyes!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 15:21:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15099530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tboi/pseuds/tboi
Summary: “Huh,” Newt mumbles out. “We match.”





	you know him. you love him.

**Author's Note:**

> [through a thousand lifetimes, across millions of stars ](https://fubuki-atsuya.tumblr.com/post/174303555149/first-he-touches-you-and-you-light-on-fire-your)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> is newt's fucked up eye his left one? i don't know because i spent like, five minutes trying to figure this out and my brain has maybe two working cells, so i couldn't. fun fact of the day!

 

 

The first thing Newt notices,  _really_ notices, after a day stopping the apocalypse and two more in medical, being poked with more needles than he cared to count – is his eye. He's back in his quarters after medical decided he  _probably_ wasn't going to die, at least not immediately, and he's peering into the mirror in his bathroom through his cracked lenses.  
  
It's his left eye, specifically – his sclera is no longer the raw red it was immediately following his first drift – but his iris is ringed a bright, angry red, that Newt cannot imagine is going to fade anytime soon if at all. It doesn't hurt, and there's no effect on his vision – he can't _feel_ it, and it hadn't been of immediate concern to the doctors he'd seen after they'd poked at it a bit (they were more worried about the psychological effects of drifting with a kaiju, especially  _twice_ ) but it unsettles him all the same. He pulls at the skin around his eye and stares at himself in the mirror until his vision blurs.

 

He needs a shower. They'd let him have a quick one in the medical bay, but he hasn't had a proper shower in like, four days and he feels grimy and gross and  _tired,_ most of all – he'd slept the better part of the last two days, but he still feels worn down and heavy - because hey, stopping an apocalypse takes a lot out of you, who knew – so, after he's done showering and wiping dried blood that he'd missed the first time round off of himself for the better part of half an hour, he throws himself into a shirt and boxers, into bed, and passes out almost immediately.

 

–

 

Someone is knocking on Newt's door  _really_ fucking loud, and  _really_ fucking fast, and he's  _really_ fucking tired, and he doesn't want to be dealing with this right now, thank you very much-

  
“What,” he snaps, opening the door – his glasses are still sitting on the tiny table next to his bed, and the lenses are both smashed anyway – so he can't see shit, and he's  _tired_ and  _annoyed_ , and-

 

“Newton,” Hermann says, and Newt rubs his eyes as if it's going to fix his vision, but yeah – this poorly dressed blob in front of him is definitely Hermann. Newt is suddenly very aware he's standing in his doorway in a thin t-shirt and boxers, and that his breath probably stinks, but whatever.  
  
“Uh,” he mumbles out as he moves out of his doorway, gesturing for Hermann to come into his room, because he's not exactly sure _what_ he should be doing right now. Hermann follows his lead after a short pause, and stands awkwardly in the middle of the room as Newt beelines for his bed to push his glasses onto his face. The world comes into focus, sort of – there are two huge cracks in his lenses that colour his vision, but whatever. He can _kind_ of see. 

 

“What's up?” Newt asks in what he hopes is in a vaguely casual kind of way – Hermann's been in his head now, which, cool, so he knew they'd be having this conversation eventually, because Newt _knows_ how he feels and he _knows_ how Hermann feels now, too, so like. It was just a matter of time. He doesn't know how to do this – he doesn't know how they're going to do this - he wants to burrow back under his blankets and sleep some more.  
  
“Your eye,” Hermann says, which was not what Newt was expecting, and the way his eyebrows raise sharply must show that, because Hermann moves quickly to explain himself. “They told me – in medical – that what had happened to mine was similar to what they'd seen in yours. It's a side effect of drifting with a kaiju, they suspect, because no-one else who's ever drifted _normally_ has experienced it, but it's not harmful as far as they can tell-”  
  
“Hermann,” Newt cuts him off with a roll of his eyes, but it's fond. “I know, dude. They gave me the same rundown.”  
  
“Oh,” Hermann exhales. “I wasn't – sure. What they'd have said to you, especially since – you drifted twice. I didn't know if it was different.”  
  
“Nah, same thing,” Newt waves his hand non-committally, “there's probably nothing wrong with it, per say, but it's weird. And probably permanent.”  
  
“Hm,” Hermann hums. “I figured as much when it failed to fade.”  
  
“Anyway,” Newt continues on, “did you wanna, like, ask about it, because I'm not gonna be much help - I know about as much as you do – they just told me the same things you rattled off, so like-”  
  
“Newton,” Hermann cuts him off, and then he softly says, “Newt. I'd like to – see it. If you don't mind.” 

 

“Oh,” Newt says shakily, the use of his nickname not lost on him. “Uh. Sure.” He takes his glasses off and places them on the bed next to him, and Hermann's in his space in one step – he's gently pulling at the skin around Newt's eye, like he himself had done earlier while he was looking in the mirror.   
  
“My right eye was the one that was affected,” Hermann mumbles. “I wonder if there's a reason for that not being the case with you.”  
  
“Can I – have a look? At yours?” Newt asks, as Hermann's thumb comes to lay gently on his cheek. He nods, so Newt slips his glasses back on his face and looks at Hermann's eye – the red circles the brown of Hermann's iris, and it's less bright, less angry in his, but it's there all the same – and he's right, it's in the opposite eye to Newt's. 

 

“Huh,” Newt mumbles out. “We match.”  
  
“I suppose we do,” Hermann sighs out, softly. “Of all the matching rings to have-”  
  
“Oh, wow,” Newt cuts him off, a grin breaking onto his face, and Hermann realises what he's just said, because his face goes redder than Newt's eye is.  
  
“That's not-,” Hermann splutters, and Newt cuts him off with a grin.  
  
“We drifted,” he reminds Hermann. “I – I know.”  
  
“I know you do,” Hermann mumbles. “I should've – been here earlier. When the Marshal sent you away to the slums, I thought I'd never see you again.” Hermann sits himself on the bed next to Newt, wringing his hands together nervously.  
  
“Well, you're stuck with me,” Newt tells him reaching over to cover Hermann's hand with his own – which he can't really _do_ , because Hermann's hands are bigger than his. “For better or for worse.”

 

“For better, I should imagine,” Hermann says, and he smiles at Newt, gently.   
  
“I guess we'll be linked forever, with our eyes doing this shit,” Newt tells him. “So there's no getting rid of me. Unless you like, wear coloured contact or something.”

 

“I doubt that's going to happen,” Hermann smiles.  
  
“We should get dinner,” Newt suggests. “Not right now, but like. This week.”  
  
“They want us to clear the lab out,” Hermann reminds him, and Newt groans because oh _yeah_ , Newt had totally been told of that at some point. “But I dare say we've waited long enough.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Newt jabs, “seriously, since what, my fourth letter?”  
  
“We have wasted so much time,” Hermann tells him. “I am aware.”  
  
“Don't think of it like that,” Newt's quick to say. “It wasn't wasted time, because like – we got here in the end.”  
  
“Tomorrow? For dinner?” Hermann asks instead of responding to Newt's comment, and Newt knows it's because he's _embarrassed_ – his face is red again.  
  
“Sure,” Newt quickly agrees. “You're gonna have to find somewhere that's still standing, though.”  
  
“We'll manage,” Hermann says so surely that Newt almost imagines they're going to be eating somewhere that isn't the Shatterdome's cafeteria.  


“You should come to bed,” Newt says as he rests his head on Hermann's shoulder, because he's too nervous to ask. “Just now.”  
  
“I _am_ tired,” Hermann tells him. “You don't need to convince me.”  
  
“Cool,” Newt murmurs, pulling Hermann down, their ringed eyes on each-other, and Newt thinks – this was worth it.

 


End file.
